


Let's Play A Game

by Karlethandra_Merthensa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (somewhat), BAMF Peter Parker, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brock Rumlow's an ass, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapping, POV Third Person, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter wants to play, Protective Peter Parker, Sassy Peter, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Violence, it's been too long, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-06-15 15:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karlethandra_Merthensa/pseuds/Karlethandra_Merthensa
Summary: Peter took a deep breath, “I’ll make you a deal,” Peter said slowly.  Rumlow’s attention turned back to him, his eyes narrowing.  Peter grinned widely, “We’ll play a game."____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________When HYDRA invades Avengers Tower, it's up to a young boy to...  Probably die, but hell he has to do SOMETHING.  17 year old Peter is just a little intern, how can he take down an entire floor of HYDRA goons?  The Avengers are strong and mighty, but Peter has something none of them have.  Now Peter must make a decision: let them all find out, or fail and they all suffer.





	1. You shouldn't do that

**Author's Note:**

> Summary is probably gonna change. I don't like it that much. Regardless, I am back! Temporarily! I decided to start a new story to try and get back into writing!

"Maybe you shouldn't be doing this?" Peter suggested, leaning against the wall. Brock frowned, standing up from where he had kneeled over Tony Stark, who was currently coughing violently from the onslaught of kicks to his stomach just before Peter entered the room.

"the- Oh.  You're Stark's intern brat." Brock grunted.

 Peter frowned, "Rude." He replied, "My names Peter.  Use it, jerk."

"Fine then, _Peter,"_ Brock sneered, "My names Brock Rumlow.  Mind movin' on kid, so I can go back to beating the shit out of Stark here?"

 Peter stared at him for a long moment before looking to Tony.  Blood was coming from the corner of Tony's mouth. The younger man's jaw clenched.  His eyes darted to the side where the rest of the Avengers were watching him in silence, gags stopping any words they attempted to say.  Thor and Bruce were missing...  Finally, Peter took a deep breath and sighed, "Rude." He repeated.

"What?" Brock demanded.

"Rude." Peter repeated once more.

"What is?"

"You are."

 Peter smiled gently, "Three reasons.  One: You're in my house without permission." He took a step forwards, "Two: You're a part of HYDRA.  You all literally have no semblance for the phrase â€˜be nice" He took another step forwards, "Three: You're literally kicking my _dad_." Peter finished, shrugging, "Simple as that."

"Your dad?" Brock asked, looking down at Tony, "That so?" He looked back to Peter, "Tell me kid: Biological, adopted, what?"

Peter smiled playfully, "See, I can't tell you that.  Need-To-Know basis, and you," He pointed at Brock with his arm at full extension, "Don't need to know."

"Oh, I think I do, kid." Brock replied.  He reached forwards and tried to grab Peter's hand, but the kid was too fast.  He pulled his hand back quickly and tsked playfully.

"Uh-uh-uh!" He stated, "Not fair!  This game hasn't started yet!" He said, crossing his arms with a pout.  He then gets a twinkle in his eye and pretends to hold up an invisible piece of paper, "reading" from it and goes, "Alright. Brock Rumlow's Rude Count: 4." He looked up and grinned, before ducking as Brock threw a fist at him.

"Shut the hell up!" Brock snapped.  Before Peter could move, the larger man came down and grabbed him roughly by the biceps.  Peter, however, jerked himself downwards, twisting as he went down and forced the HYDRA agent to release him.  Peter then rolled away and came up in with a triumphant sound that died in his throat as he saw the gun Brock now had pointed at his head.

"He's a fucking kid!" Tony exclaimed, "I know HYDRA has no morals, but come on, Rumlow-!" He cut off as Peter lifted his hands slowly, swallowing hard.  Whilst Tony had been talking Brock had moved forwards, and not had the barrel right to Peter's forehead.

"I'm fucking _sick_ ," Rumlow growled deeply, "Of the talk... I should just fucking shoot you dead right here."

"Why don't you then?" Peter countered.

"Because my boss will like the idea of a new addition." Brock responded.  He threw a look over at Bucky, the ex-assets eyes wide with shock.  Buck thrashed harshly against his restrains, but four HYDRA goons held him down, and the virbranium cords holding the team down were not budging.

Peter took a deep breath, "I'll make you a deal," Peter said slowly. Brock's attention turned back to him, his eyes narrowing.  Peter grinned widely, "We'll play a game, _but,"_ He added before Brock could interrupt, "I'll change up the reward."

"I'm listening, but first tell me what this ˜game" is." Brock said slowly, digging the barrel into Peter's head as a warning.

"The game is simple. We're in the gym, right?" Peter asked.  Brock nodded, "Alright then.  If you can reach that tire up there faster than I can," he pointed up to a tire at the very top of the very high ceiling.  It was large, and very sturdy; Made to hold the Hulk.  Peter continued, "then you win the first round. Second round involves who can bench press the most," Peter gestured to the press that Steve always uses, "And final round goes to whoever wins in a hand-to-hand fight."

Brock laughed, "What'll happen when I win the first two?  Do I still get to beat the shit out of you?"

Peter let out a gentle breath, "That depends on if you want your prize or not.  We'll still fight, but how much I bleed is up to you."

"And what will my prize be?" Brock inquired.

"I'll kill Tony myself." Peter responded.  He eyes didn't leave Brock, but he could still hear everyone holding their breath.  He could feel Tony's eyes staring at him.

"You'd willingly kill the man you call _dad_?" Brock sneered, "As if."

"I won't do it willingly." Peter replied, "That's what the game is for.  And I'm giving it my all."

"Fine then," Brock stated, "Let's get started then, shall we?"


	2. Round One: The Tire Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirty feet high, multiple routes but all unusable for a normal person like Brock-- And a pretend normal person like Peter.
> 
> Like hell Peter will let Brock will anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT THE EVER LOVING HELL HOW DO I HAVE SO MANY HITS AND KUDOS AND COMMENTS LIKE WAAAAAT I JUST POSTED THIS STUFF TODAY AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Peter stared at the tire hanging from the ceiling, routing the best way possible to get up.  Being the Avenger's "precious gem", as they tended to call him when he did something... Well, anything, really, he knew all about every piece of equipment inside this room.  The tire was large, incredibly so, and held up by reinforced virbranium chains so that it could hold up Hulk when he and the other Avengers train together.  Simple design in all honesty, but Peter had never tried to climb up before. His fingers itched slightly at the idea of trying. 

He does love to try and find a challenge after all.

"So how are we doing this?" Brock asked, putting away his gun.  He had no fear of anything happening, too many HYDRA goons in the room with their own weapons to bother with it.Â  Peter looked past Brock, noting the two HYDRA agents that were carefully tying Tony up, dragging the almost unconscious man over to the other Avengers.

It took Peter a moment, but finally he replied, "We'll go up at the same time.  No rules except we can't make the other person bleed by a direct hit to the other." The younger man looked over to the older one, quirking a brow, "Sound good to you?"

"This'll be too easy..." Rumlow chuckled, "Ready when you are, _kid_."

Peter's eyebrow twitched, "I'll give you a head start."

"Your mistake." Brock yelled and ran for the wall.  He got about a foot up before he turned, launching himself from the wall onto a sturdy pillar, specifically made for Hawkeye to work on moving from platform to platform when he's on roof tops.  The older man ran across them, slowly getting higher and higher, but he still had a way to go.  He glanced downwards, expecting to see Peter struggling to get on top of something, but he was gone.

"Looking for me?" Peter quipped, and Brock screeched to a stop, looking over at Peter, who was hanging upside down on one of Natasha's bars.  The ex-assassin loves to practice her flips and making sure her grip strength is up to par to catch herself on something random should she need it.

At the moment however, the bar was being used as a method for Peter to get up to the tire.  The seventeen-year-old twiddled his fingers playfully at Brock before reaching up and grabbing the bar with his hands.  With a show of flexibility, he un-hooked his legs, pulling them up and then sliding them between his torso and the bar without ever bending them.  He then switch his hand holds so that his back was to the HYDRA agent and carefully swung his legs back and forth a few times, picking up momentum before launching himself forwards.  He grabbed onto a slightly higher bar, about three feet from the one he'd been on, and about a foot higher in the air.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched Brock start moving again.  Peter had the addon of secretely being Spiderman to help with this, but Brock has years of training on him.  He needs to keep moving.

Both men, still about fifteen feet from the tire, catch the other's eyes, and glare.

"Didn't take you for the gymnastics type, kid." Brock yelled, grunting soon after as his foot slips and he almost falls off a platform.

"Didn't take you for the conversationalist." Peter replied, a bit breathless as he swung himself around and around the bar he was currently on.  The next closest bar he had to build up momentum to get to it.  Before he can complete his next turn however, something hard hits him in the side.  He let's out a sharp cry of shock as he's hit away from the bar, luckily recovering enough to grab onto a nearby platform, about two feet below where he'd been.  Rumlow chuckled evilly from where his hand was on the bar Peter had just been using.

The young man let out a sharp growl, pulling himself up onto the platform and kept going.  Jumping, twisting, using his flexibility to get onto things that had the Avenger's gasping below him.  He heard Rumlow cry out, and looked back to see he'd gotten his foot stuck in a hole.  Peter grinned and sprinted forwards.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven- _'_ _Jump!'_

"Damn it!" Brock yelled, just steps behind Peter.  The young man panted harshly, his hands the tire as he hung on it.  He did it.  That jump was three feet and he just barely made it without giving himself away.  He did it.  He looked down towards the floor, almost thirty feet below him, and let out a breath, "FRIDAY." He said, "Lower the tire."

"Of course, Peter." FRIDAY's voice responded.  The tire began to make its way to the ground, and as the top of it passed by him, Brock jumped and landed on top of it for a quick ride down. Once on the ground and the two passengers had successfully dismounted the giant hunk of rubber, the tire began to lift back towards the ceiling, returning to its original spot.

"One point me for." Peter said, looking over at Rumlow.  Brock was red in the face, his anger and rage barely contained.

"You cheated." Brock hissed, "I don't fucking know how, but you _cheated_.  No one is that flexible.  No one is that agile.  What's your game, kid?"

Peter shrugged, "Adrenaline and I really like gymnastics.  Never been on a team, but ever since I was little I worked to be as flexible as possible.  It just paid off today." He replied.  It wasn't a lie. Ever since he was little he has adored gymnasts and their flexibility and grace, so he'd always done his best to have it too.  Being Spiderman just significantly helped.

Brock glared at him and pulled out his gun.  Peter held up his hands as Brock yelled, "No more fucking games!"

"So you don't want me to shoot Tony?" Peter asked, tilting his head to the side, "Because there are still two more games; the bench press and the spar are still in place. I told you I'm giving it my all, so how about you actually give it _your_ all as well." Peter taunted, taking a moderate step forwards.  He was taking a chance here.  He'd heard rumors from Steve that Rumlow was always egotistical.  He likes to be the best.

Luck seemed to be on Peters side as Brock slowly lowered his gun, his nostrils flaring in anger, "Fine...  What's the next one again?  The bench press wasn't it?"

"Yep." Peter replied.

"Alright then.  How much can you normally press kid, forty?"

"A hundred ten." Peter replied honestly.  Before the spider bite, he hadn't been weak, he just never fought back.  His strength was hidden behind a lean swimmer's body and he was glad for it.

"Bullshit." Brock scoffed, "No way a scrawny kid like you can-" He cut himself off, remembering the obstacle course.  Gears turned in his eyes and Peter knew he was probably thinking about the fact he had just done about twenty minutes of an intense arm-workout. He should be weaker than he normally is.  Brock squared his shoulders and grinned, "Alright.  A hundred ten then.  My record for casual press is three fifty."

"Let's see if today's a good day for us then." Peter said, and then put on a 'fancy' British accent, "And may the odds be eh-va in your fav-ah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* now that I'm calmer:
> 
> Thank you guys so so much for the kudos and comments, it means so so much to me. I mentioned to the first two commenters, totallyhuman and writing_shorts_but_failing that I enjoy implementing ideas and mini-addons that my readers have into my stories and that's completely true and soooooo to make it a tiny bit easier I have a question for y'all!
> 
> Peter already has his dad (Tony) but who is his secondary parents, cause I want one there I just don't know who. Y'all could even convince me that one doesn't need to be there. I have one in mind, and I think it could be kinda cute cause I'm just getting into the pairing, but I wanna know y'all opinions, so hit meh! 
> 
> I love y'all so much, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!
> 
> EDIT:  
> Y'all, why the hell is it when you copy something from a Word doc into something else it has â€™ for quotes and apostrophes, and this: Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â for when you have a tab in the story. Like whyyyyyyy. Oh well, I can deal.
> 
> EDIT PART 2:
> 
> � <\---- Those also exist. Once I post the story I have to go back into edit mode and get rid of these at the end of every quote. Whyyyyyy xD


	3. Round Two: Bench Pressing Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bench Press was Steve's own. Able for all to use, but specifically designed to withstand almost any weight Steve himself could. However, a large man verus a scrawny teen... How well could that end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK
> 
> I abandoned this thing for so long, I was on such a writers block with it, BUT I AM BACK B A B Y
> 
> Please, enjoy this newest chapter, and I AM SOWWY FOR TAKING SO LONG!

Peter felt his muscles tingle as he watched Brock start over to the bench press.  If he was going to beat three fifty he’ll need to expose himself a bit.  Brock won’t take the adrenaline lie for this one.  Peter frowned.  He could also simply loose this one.  Be a good sport, laugh a bit.  Make Brock go back into his ‘mightier than thou’ way of thinking.

                With a frown, Peter sighed.  Brock looked back and laughed, “What, not so mighty now, are you?”

                Peter smiled gently, “Just a tad nervous.” He readily admitted, “It’s not exactly hard to tell we aren’t on the same strength level.”

                Brock chuckled as he picked up a forty-five-pound weight, sliding it on one end of the already hundred-pound bar.  Tony had had the bench press specially made, just for Steve.  The young high schooler could feel the Avenger’s eye on him.  _‘Keep going, Parker…’_ he thought to himself.  Brock finished piling his weights onto the bar, and after a quick bit of mental math Peter counted three ninety.  Brock wasn’t exactly making this hard on himself, “Let’s make this quick then, shall we?  How many reps?”

                “As many as you can do.” Peter replied, “But remember we do have a spar after this.”

                Brock grinned, “Like I could forget.  I’m,” He grunted slightly, lifting the bar and began his set while he continued to talk, “Looking forward to beating your ass and watching you shoot Stark.”

                Peter narrowed his eyes, “We’ll see who wins, Rumlow.”

                Brock chuckled, “Don’t get cocky kid.”

                “Who say this was cockiness?” Peter replied.

                Brock paused slightly to glance over at Peter and scoff before he continued his ‘workout’ of sorts.  _‘Good.’_ Peter thought.  Time passed in silence as Brock continued his movements.  Finally, _finally_ , he stopped, putting the bar back on its holder as he sat up and looked to Peter once more.  He was coated in sweat, and he grinned at Peter as he flicked some wet hair out of his face, “You’re turn.  That was thirty-seven.”

                “Good job.” Peter congratulated, genuine.

                “Shouldn’t we just skip this?  Was the point that someone could lift more than the other?”

                “What,” Peter taunted, removing a good bit of the weights as he talked, “Do you actually want to fight me when I’m at a hundred?  I got to rest just now, you didn’t.  Let’s make it fairer.”

                “You’ve got an ego on ya’, kid.” Brock grunted, “I’ll give you that.  Makes me wonder if Stark really _is_ your dad.”

                “Not biologically.” Peter replied, finally finishing his weight switch.  He looked at the bar and mentally scoffed.  This would be _too_ easy for him.  Two hundred pounds is less than he does when he stops a bus, or a car, or something like that.  He’s _strong_ …  Too bad he can’t show it.  With that, Peter took off his jacket, his periodic table t-shirt showing and mentally grinned when Brock chuckled at it.

                “Let’s get a move on, kid.” Brock grunted.

                “You know my name.” Peter replied, laying down and gripping the bar.  A second later, he lifted it, faking a grunt as he did so.  He’d worked out before the spider bite, and he knew how he’d reacted.  He faked his breathing picking up, flexed his muscles with each rep. 

                “Doesn’t mean I have to use it.” Brock replied snarkily, “You look like you’re having trouble there, kid; you sure you wanna do two hundred?”

                “I’m fine.” Peter replied, a tad bit breathless.  Mentally, he was rolling his eyes.  He wished, he _wished_ he could, but he can’t…  Not unless this doesn’t work out…  Peter’s eyes widened lightly as an idea popped into his head.  _‘More than seventy…’_ He told himself.

                Finally, eventually, he ‘gave up’.  Laughing, he put down the weights and faked a groan as he sat up, “Alright.  You did seventy-one, not bad.  I just did eighty-four.  Considering that was our max for both of our strengths, I’d say I won.” Peter grinned slightly. 

                Rumlow frowned, “No… I say because I lifted more than you, then _I_ win.” He growled.

                Peter shrugged, “By logic and fairness, though, it wouldn’t exactly make since to go off that.  We both exceeded our standard weight limit and did as many as we good.  It isn’t my fault you couldn’t do as many—” he cut off as Rumlow gripped his throat, lifting him in her air.  Peter gripped his wrist, struggling as his air was cut off.

                “I’m tired of this fuckin’ game.  You’ve beat me _twice_ now, you fucking _brat_.  What’s your deal?” Rumlow growled, his eyes narrowed.

                “I—Just really like—” Peter tried, but cut off as Rumlow squeezed tighter.

                “Liar!” He yelled, “You’re fucking hiding something.  What is it?  Good ol’ Stark use you as an experiment, like his father did to the good Captain?  What are you kid, some secret super soldier?” He dropped Peter as he reached the end of his mini-monologue.  The teen gasped for air, slumping to the ground as he clutched his neck, which was quickly blossoming with a large bruise.  Rumlow kicked him hard in the ribs, “Come on!  What are you playin’ at?  What’s the point of this?  Tryin’ to bide time?  No one’s coming for their aid.  They all already know if they try the place will be blown up, everyone inside killed and the Avengers will be charred husks.”  He slammed his foot into Peter’s stomach, and through his loud cry he could hear the Avenger’s calling for Rumlow to grant him Mercy.

                “Come on, Stark, he kid is willing to shoot you if he looses everything and you wanna spare him?” Rumlow laughed.  He bent down and grabbed Peter’s hair, forcing the boy to sit up.  A trickle of blood ran from the corner of the young man’s lips, and he glared death at the HYDRA agent.

                “He’s a fucking _kid_!” Tony exclaimed, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing!”

                “He will…” Rumlow replied.  He gently wiped away the blood from Peter’s lips, “When he’s trained he will.  He’ll know everything he needs to know.”

                “I already do.” Peter growled.

                “Oh yeah?  Like what?” Rumlow chuckled.

                “KAREN activate combination two hundred thirty four.” Peter said.  He lifted his hand to Rumlow’s, still clutched in his brown locks and pulled them both down.  A second later, multiple cries of surprise were heard.  Before Rumlow could process what had happened, something hard and sturdy landed in his crotch, knocking the wind out of him.  It bent his cup- What could bend his cup-

                Rumlow let out a cry of surprise as he was thrown backwards, clutching his crotch.  When he finally looked up a moment later, a majority of his agents were stuck to the walls with… Webs?  His eyes flickered to the Avengers, pleased to see that all their agents were still standing, however none of the guns were on them.  They were pointing passed Rumlow.

                To the kid.

                The HYDRA goon’s eyes trailed back to Peter, and they widened as he took in the, now standing, teen.

                The cocky attitude was gone, replaced with an intense glare the Rumlow… Really didn’t want to see. Unknown to him as to why, the look chilled his bones.  He shivered intensely, backing away slightly as the brunette crossed his arms.  A little drone-like machine floated next to him.

                Behind him, Rumlow could hear Tony mutter, “Pete…?”

                “Droney,” Peter said, cocking his head to the side, “No killing.”

                The machine, ‘Droney’ as Peter called it, chirped happily.  It shook its little drone butt before literally _speeding_ across the room and began attacking the HYDRA goons surrounding the Avengers.

                Rumlow’s eyes snapped back to Peter as he felt hands grab his collar, lifting him up slightly.  He was right above the elder man, crouched slightly as he straddled the HYDRA goon, one knee on the floor.  The teen looked him dead in the eye, grinning slightly, “You and me?” Peter said, “We’re gonna have our spar now.  Hope you’re up for it, big guy, cause I’d _love_ to see you try and win a fight against a kid who can climb on walls without your guns.  Cause I told you: This spar?  It's hand-to-hand.  And I'm giving it  _all_ I got."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM!
> 
> Fuckin' own his ass Peter. 
> 
> Damn that felt good to write. Shit. Alright. Hope y'all enjoyed that chapter, I SOWWY IT TOOK SO DAMN LONG! And I hope to see y'all for the next one!


	4. The Spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tilted his head, a smile on his face, "This is fair." He said simply.
> 
> Now's time for Peter and Rumlows spar, but has Peter gone in over his head? Who is to say Rumlow will... Play fair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? I uploaded another chapter in a timely fashion? Surely it cannot be me! Haha

Rumlow grunted as Peter threw him to the ground, two rooms over after dragging him by his collar.  He slowly got to his feet, wincing before reaching into his pants and pulling out his heavily dented cup.  He looked it over before looking up, narrowing his eyes at Peter, “Well then,” Rumlow growled, throwing the cup to the side, “You really did have an edge to ya’, didn’t cha.  I don’t really find that very _fair_.”

                Peter smiled with his teeth, the gesture not reaching his eyes as he said, “You brought over a hundred goons into this building to take out five people.  How is that for _fair_?” He replied, mocking-sweetness lacing his voice. 

                Rum laughed, reaching into his pants for his gun before pausing, his lips then curling as he snarled, “You fucking _brat_.  Where’s my gun!?”

                Peter tilted his head to the side, “I told you.  Hand-to-hand.  I only use my hands in any fight—How is it at all fair you have a gun?  You’re _strong_ , Rumlow.  I know you’re specially trained.  I’ve had a few training sessions, but _nothing_ like you have.  Who knows?  Maybe you’ll best me by pure luck alone.” He smiled again, this time no teeth.  He crossed his arms, twisting her torso ever so slightly side to side, humming a single note for a second before continuing, “Or, you’ll just get your ass kicked by a seventeen-year-old.  Your choice—” He grunted as Rumlow sprinted forwards.  Keeping his arms crossed, he bent backwards as though he was about to do a backbend, Rumlow’s out-stretched fist going over his head.  As the elder man pulled back, Peter came up as well, and planted a solid, yet not full strength, kick to the goon’s abdomen.  Rumlow stumbled back, gasping for breath.

                “Come on, kid.” Rumlow growled, “Where’s that _spunk_ that cha’ had before?”

                Peter shrugged, “Maybe you choked that outta me.  Or maybe, just _maybe_ that had all been an act?  You were trying to _kill_ my dad, Rumlow.  Do you really think I would be all happy-go-lucky?”

                “You agreed to shoot him if I won.” Rumlow said, dumbly.

                Peter rolled his eyes, “I can stop a bus with my bare hands, climb up walls like they’re nothing.  I’ve broken someone’s rib early on because I poked them too hard after I stopped them trying to mug someone.  Do you _really_ think I was gonna lose all of those?” He asked.  He gestured to himself, periodic table shirt had a few drops of blood.  His jeans were old as well as his sneakers, “I’m a _kid_ , dude.  Of course, I’m not gonna let anyone kill the one person I have as family anymore.” Rumlow was only half listening, more focused on the boy’s neck.  Peter rolled his eyes, “Are you even listening to me?”

                “Your throat—It’s healed.” He replied, hoarsely.

                “Yeah.  Advanced healing.” Peter replied.

                “HYDRA will have fun with that.” Rumlow grinned.  With that, he charged again.  This time, Peter didn’t dodge but instead just began to block.  Right hook? Blocked.  Left kick?  Blocked.  Blocked, blocked, blocked, blocked—Hit.

                Peter gasped in pain as Rumlow finally got a solid shot in.  Right into the ribcage, he could feel the bones give way a bit, one of them probably cracked, but he was more focused on continuing his attack than check.  Right kick? Hit.  Left hook to the jaw?  Hit.  Solid kick to the stomach? Hit.  Peter stumbled backwards, holding his ribs as he fought for breath, wincing as he stared at Rumlow with one eye open, “Not bad…” He rasped.  He took a second, steadying his breathing before standing up straight, shaking his arms slightly.  Rumlow frowned as he noticed little black devices on his boy’s wrists.  When were those there?  He didn’t have any more time to think on it however, before suddenly Peter was on him. 

                Literally _on him_.  One second, he was a good ten feet away, and then next both of the boy’s feet were landing hard into his sternum, pushing off of him as he flipped backwards and then was on him again, this time his right foot kicking him hard in the jaw.  He landed in a kneel, not even breaking to whirl around and use the back of his foot to bring Rumlow to the ground.  The elder man, dazed, half-heartedly tried to fight back.  He couldn’t understand what just happened, and his mind was trying to wrap around what just happened.  Peter chuckled, swiping his hair out of his face, “Had enough?” He asked.  He flinched as the door burst open, about three HYDRA goons entering the room.

                With a loud curse, Peter lifted his arms, outstretching them as webs shot forwards and grabbed two of the three guns.  He jerks them out of the goon’s hands, whirling around quickly and throwing them into the third.  In that time frame however, said third goon shot off three bullets.  Having been too preoccupied with disarming the other two, Peter was unable to dodge them, his luck having it that two missed.  The third landed solidly in his hip, dragging a loud cry of pain from the boy.  He stumbled back slightly, his hand going to his hip, but before he could even pull it back to examine the wound, his body tensed up. 

                _DangerdangerdangerdanGERDANGERDANGER—_

Peter jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding Rumlow as he tried to fire at the younger boy.  He had grabbed a nearby gun, _‘where did that come from!?’_ Peter thought, his mind clouded with pain, and had shot at him seven times.  His jerked motion allowed him to dodge four.  The other three hit hard.  One landed in his outer shoulder, going clean through the fat muscle and tissue there.  Another landed in his outer thigh, just five inches below where his hip had been shot, digging in and planting itself there.  The third hit the front of his abdomen, once again going clean through, just an inch or so above his belly button.  Peter gasped, pain racking his body as the tension didn’t fade.

                _DANGERDANGERDANGERD A N G E R D A N G E R D A N—_

Peter quickly kicked out, ignoring the _screaming_ pain in his leg as he kicked the gun from Rumlow’s hands.  Blood poured from the other man’s mouth.  Peter tried to think back to when he and him had been fighting. ‘ _How hard did I hit him?’_ He thought, desperately trying to remember.  The pain was clouding his mind, making it hard to think.

                “This isn’t r-right…” He muttered, gasping for breath.

                Rumlow groaned, slowly getting to his feet, “Really think the bullets we use are _normal_ , kid?” he chuckled, spitting out a gob of blood to the floor, “Going up Captain America and the Winter Soldier, we kind of need some _oomph_ , if ya’ know what I mean.  All of our bullets are laced with a strong poison, a sedative if you will.  Guess they work on you too.  Welcome to HYDRA, kid.”

                Peter gasped roughly for breath, turning and stumbling towards the doors that would lead back to the Avengers.  Surely they were free by now.  Why was it taking so long?  He would have been notified if Droney had been destroyed.  Where are they—His knees gave out, and he reached a bloodied hand out, gripping the edge of a near-by table.  He slowly, slowly began to crawl to the door. 

                He slowly as a shadow loomed over him.  Swallowing hard he looked up, and Rumlow reached down, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling the boy up to be resting fully on his knees, “You’re gonna do great kid, don’t worry.” Rumlow laughed.  With that, he pulled back his fist and struck.

                The last thing Peter heard was the sound of his own cry, his name being yelled, and guns firing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFF HANGER!!!!! MUWHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> (tbh I had planned on this chapter just being like, Peter kicks Rumlow's ass and then the Avengers have a very stern talking to Peter, but then this happened and I like it sooooo much better!)


	5. Blood and Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony threw the cup at the wall before putting his head in his hands, "Peter..." He whispered, "Where are you..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit what is this? Technically two chapters in a day? (I posted chapter four at like, 1 AM lol). Yeeeeeeeeee enjoy!!

Tony, Steve, Bucky and Nat burst into the room just in time to see Rumlow land a solid blow against Peter’s jaw.  The teen fell to the side with a cry of pain that died halfway through, landing solidly on the floor, blood quickly pooling around different parts of his body.  “Peter!” Tony yelled, but was pulled to Steve’s side as bullets rained down on them.  The genius wanted to pull away from the super soldier, wanting to go to Peter and help him, but he couldn’t be that stupid.  He needed to be alive to help the teen after all.

                “Damn it, let him go!” Bucky’s voice sounded above the gun fire.  Tony peaked around Cap’s shield for a quick second, his eyes widening as he saw Peter being slung over Rumlow’s shoulder, unconscious, but his bleeding had slowed.

                “Barnes, on your left!” Nat called.  Tony couldn’t see what was going on as he tapped quickly at his watch.  A moment later a suit flew into the room.  Steve moved with Tony, getting him over to the suit so he could quickly hop in, encasing himself in the protective armor.  Repulsers charged and quickly shot round after round, laying waste to HYDRA goon after HYDRA goon, but Peter and Rumlow were no where to be seen.  “FRIDAY?” Tony asked, a tad hysterical, “Where is Peter?”

                “I can’t get a read any heat signatures, boss.” FRIDAY responded, equally distraught, “He’s just… Gone.”

                The room fell silent as Bucky’s bullet landed home in the last goon.  The silence clawed at their nervous, making Nat shift her feet and Bucky cast his gaze around the room.  Finally, Steve spoke, “We’ll find him, Tony.  Those bastards can’t hide for long.”

                Tony’s gaze found the floor, a large pool of blood from where Peter had been laying, “It’s what they can do to him in any span of time that I’m worried about.” He replied.

 

 

                “Holy pop tart in a pencil sharpener!” Peter gasped, his eyes flashing open as he tried to sit upright in shock, only to be pulled back down with a cry of pain as his shoulder tried to pop out of socket.  His eyes snapped to his wrist, noting the sturdy chains wrapped around them.  His gazed flicked around.  Ankles in the same shape.  A single band of… Some sort of strong fabric across his hips.  He was on… A bed?  He let his head fall back against the pillow for a moment, “What—” Peter mumbled, his mind still slightly clouded.  He lifted his head and pulled numbly at the chains, shifting as much as he could with how tightly the chains had him spread, “I don’t—Where am I?” Peter groaned, closing his eyes in an attempt to fight off the oncoming migraine.  The room was incredibly quiet, but he could hear movement behind the door.  His breathing was shallower than he’d like, and his hip ached painfully. 

                He laid there for what felt like a few good hours before boredom got the better of him, “Hey!” He called out, “Hey, is anyone out there?” No reply.  Peter worried his bottom lip as boredom tugged at what felt like his very soul before he tried again, “Hellooooo?  Come on guys, I gotta pee!” Still no response.  Peter huffed, “Rude ass mother—” he cut himself off as the door opened.  The teens brown eyes widened in shock, his body tensing.

                _Danger, Danger, Danger, Danger—_

The person came into the room, closing the door without looking at Peter.  He held a tray in his hands, and the smell of fruits filled Peter’s senses.

                _Dangerdangerdangerdangerdanger—_

The person came closer, and in the dimly lit room Peter.  Peter stiffened more, his breathing coming out more erratically.

                _DangerdangerdaNGERDANGERDANGERDANGER—_

“Good to see you’re awake Mr. Parker.” Rumlow said, setting down the tray of fruits on the bedside table to Peter’s left, “Would have hated for you to not eat for a third day in a row.  Advanced metabolism and not eating?  Not very smart.”

                “Where am I?” Peter demanded.

                “Doesn’t matter.” Rumlow replied, “All that matters is getting some food into your body.  Can’t have you dying on us.” With that Rumlow reached over, picking up a strawberry and holding it in front of Peter’s lips.

                “I don’t need you to feed me,” Peter hissed, jerking away as much as he could, “In chain my arms and I’ll eat more than you can buy.”

                Rumlow tsked softly three times, bumping the strawberry against Peter’s lips, “See, I can’t do that.  I know you’ll strike out, and until I know you won’t you’re staying like this, Peter.”

                “Don’t call me that.” Peter growled.

                “Oh?  I thought you wanted me to.” Rumlow teased, still keeping the strawberry in place.

                “That was when I was pulling your strings, making you do what I wanted—” he cut off as Rumlow shoved half the strawberry into Peter’s mouth.  The teen make a choked sound, biting the fruit just so Rumlow would pull it away.  When he did, Peter spat the half-chewed red fruit in the HYDRA goons’ face.

                _Smack!_

                Peter let out a cry as his head snapped to the side.  Rumlow calmly retracted his hand, reaching up and wiping away the glob of spit and fruit mixture from his face and neck before picking up a new fruit, “That’s what happens when you don’t listen, Peter.” He said simply, offering another fruit, this time an apple slice.  Peter turned his head as far to the side as he could, reflex tears streaming down his face.  Rumlow paused, sighing before putting down the apple slice, “I don’t enjoy hurting you Peter—”

                “Yes you do.” Peter growled, “You’re HYDRA.  It’s what you do.”

                “That’s a false stereotype.” Rumlow replied, “We want to make the world a better place, Peter.  Make it pure.  Bring everyone together.”

                “Make them all slaves, you mean.” Peter scoffed, “I’d rather starve, thanks.”

                “Alright.  I won’t push you anymore today.  If you feel the need to eat just call out, and I will return.”

                “I won’t eat.” Peter growled.

                “Then we’ll put you on a drip.” Rumlow replied, shrugging as he headed to the door, “We’re not letting you die, kid.  Get over it.”

                “Get out.” Peter snapped.

                “I’ll be back later.” Rumlow said gently, before closing the door and leaving Peter in his dimly lit room—No, dimly lit _cell_.

                “This is the timeline God has abandoned.” Peter muttered, laying his head against the pillow again.  Time ticked on, and soon enough the teen’s eyes slipped close, slipping into the calm darkness of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That totally wasn't dark or anything lmao. I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you to Creative_Overlord for letting me use the quote "Holy pop tart in a pencil sharpener" cause they commented it and I 100% saw it as a Peter Parker quote. I hope y'all enjoyed!!

**Author's Note:**

> So. I'm currently writing this in class. I need to finish up and get back to writing my paper. (Don't worry, it's free time, but I still have stuff to do) I just couldn't concentrate cause the need to get this out there was distracting me. Here y'all go! Another chapter will be up sometime, probably when I get the motivation to actually do it.


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